


A New Year's Flight

by whichstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Wings, Castiel's True Form, Christmas, Dreams, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, New Year's Eve, POV Castiel, Wingfic, angel lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: “What would you rather have? Flight or invisibility? If you were a superhero.”“Oh.” Castiel clasped his hands in his lap and said without needing to think about it. “Flight.”“Really? Nobody actually wants that.”“I do. It’s freeing. Or,” he remembered himself. “I imagine it would be freeing. To fly.”





	1. Wingman

The woman was long and lean with amber freckles painted across her cheeks like stars in a clear night sky. She was also drunk and draped all over Castiel. He sat at the bar, shooting pointed looks at Dean as she curled her hand over his thigh until her fingers grazed along the inseam of his pants. Castiel jumped and practically fell off the bar stool. “Ah, I’m just going to get-“ He headed over to Dean who had collapsed on the bar, shoulders shaking.

“Ass,” Castiel said mildly.

Dean lifted his head and clapped his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “That was amazing, man. I will seriously never get tired of that.” He shot a look over at the disgruntled and incredibly intoxicated woman staring them down across the bar. “I think you should head back over there.”

Castiel squinted at her. “Over there?”

“Yeah. She’s hot and seriously into you. You should go for it.”

“I suspect in her current state of inebriation that she would be into virtually anyone, Dean.”

“Come on, man. You’re hot, you’re smart, you’re - well, not exactly young in more ways than the obvious but… A lot of chicks are into that.”

Castiel smiled fondly. “You think I’m attractive?” Dean sputtered over his beer. “Thank you. I think you are very attractive as well.” He looked at Dean’s face, which was slowly turning crimson. “Dean. Are you feeling alright?”

Dean’s mouth worked for a moment as though the power of speech had entirely escaped him and Castiel looked at him in mild concern.

“I have no desire for her companionship, Dean. However, I suspect she would find no objection to another’s company.”

Dean snapped his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes at Castiel as though working out a puzzle. Finally, he spiked his hair higher with his fingers and pushed away from the bar. His eyes still held a tightness at odds with the lopsided smile on his face. “Fine. Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” Castiel said. He took a pretzel from the communal bowl on the bar and spun it in his fingers, watching Dean approach the drunk woman. Dean explained the role of the wingman months ago and Castiel toyed with the pretzel, pleased to be filling that role well.

Dean approached her with a smile, eyes crinkled at the corners. Castiel watched her sway into his gaze as though bespelled. He supposed in a way she was under a kind of spell. Human existence was a complicated tapestry of chemistry and spirit, after all. Those elements combined affected humanity as surely and profoundly as any magical spell with its measured components of matter, word, and ritual. He stripped salt from the pretzels in the bowl, dropping it into a neat white pile on the polished wood, and watched Dean.

After only one round of drinks (neither necessary in Castiel’s opinion) another woman walked up to the bar and that end of the room erupted in excited chatter as the two women embraced. She was beautiful, like her friend, and a streak of blue running through her close cropped black curls matched an electric blue leather jacket. She peeled away the jacket, dropped it on an adjacent bar stool, and sat down next to her friend.

Based on Dean’s scowl this was not good, as Freckles’ back was now turned towards him. Castiel added his half de-salted pretzel to the tidy pile on the counter and headed over to engage the other woman (thereby fulfilling his role of wingman). Blue Jacket smiled politely as he settled next to her and her eyes traveled the length of his body in quick analysis.

“Nice tie,” she said.

He smoothed his hand over his tie. “Thank you. I’m fond of it.”

She laughed. “You just get off work or something?”

Castiel frowned. “I don’t think I ever stop working. Not really.”

“Ugh, I feel you, man.” She held out her hand. “Naomi.”

Castiel, having had years now to master human emotional expression managed not to flinch. “Cas,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

“So what brings you here?”

Castiel nodded towards Dean and her mouth quirked into a half smile. “And you?”

Naomi leaned forward and lowered her voice a little. “Just…also here for my friend, I guess. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid while she’s wasted off her ass.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Dean is one of the best humans I know.”

She laughed. “Okay. Noted.” Her eyebrows arched as though to say, _let me be the judge of that_. “She just got out of a relationship. You know how it is.”

Castiel furrowed his brow a bit at that. In his experience human romantic relationships were easy to walk away from when there was only sexual passion involved. Of course, intercourse with a murderous reaper or a quietly formal marriage while he was Emmanuel perhaps didn’t provide enough experience to draw a conclusion. “Yes,” he said finally.

Her gaze softened a bit at his delayed response and she offered him a sad smile. “Dating, am I right?”

“Yes, dating,” he said, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. Still, it seemed to be the appropriate reply because she relaxed further and turned her body so it faced him more fully. Castiel raised his fingers, catching the bartender’s attention. Two beers.

They resettled at a table near the dart board with a fresh round of drinks before them. Castiel sipped his beer and tried not to wince as his grace broke it into lackluster components in his mouth.

“What would you rather have?” The freckled woman, Viola, asked Dean as she swirled a cherry-topped spike around the tip of her tongue. “Flight or invisibility? If you were a superhero,” she clarified.

Dean had clearly heard this before because he smiled easily and without pause said, “Invisibility.”

Viola raked her gaze from toe to head and said, “You would.”

“You can tell that just from meeting me, huh?” Dean pulled a mock shocked expression and pressed closer.

“Oh yeah. I can tell you’ve got something to hide, baby. You’ve got secrets.”

Dean leaned in and rumbled low, “Oh, I do.”

Naomi rolled her eyes and Castiel smiled, feeling very much in accord for a moment. “Vi,” she said. “Invisibility or flight? What are you, fifteen?” She jolted from what Castiel strongly suspected was a kick under the table. She frowned, sighed, then turned to Castiel. He smiled. It was starting to appear as though the role of ‘wingman’ was not exclusive to the male gender. “What would you rather have?”

“Oh.” Castiel clasped his hands in his lap and said without needing to think about it. “Flight.”

“Really? Nobody actually wants that.”

“I do. It’s freeing. Or,” he remembered himself. “I imagine it would be freeing. To fly.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid of heights.”

Castiel smiled. “If you could fly, you wouldn’t be afraid of heights. Heights would be…beyond your attention. Flight is about…” He cocked his head to one side and drew sigils along the condensation on his glass. “It’s about being boundless. This planet, this galaxy, the universe itself drops its barriers. Gravity loses its endless drag. And your wings span the dimensions, pulling you through the planes as easily as a paddle through water. Time itself falls before you. Flight is the ultimate Blessing.”

Naomi stared at him, jaw dropped slightly and brow furrowed. “Well, that’s a new take on it.”

Dean’s conversation with Viola had ceased and he stared in Castiel’s direction, lips thin, face settled into grave lines. Ah. He’s said something wrong. Castiel sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He fixed his gaze on his glass. “I would choose flight.”

After a long beat of silence the conversation rolled on between the three humans while Castiel fought to quell the burn of sorrow that shuddered its way through his vessel. Thinking of his wings always brought on a sense of weight and he felt his body’s bones press heavily into his seat.

Dean slammed back the last of his drink and set it on the table with a _klunk_. “Hey, we should get going.”

Castiel snapped his head up. “What?”

“Yeah.” Dean said, pulling on his coat. “We’ve got that thing.”

Castiel nodded slowly. A good wingman always backs up his friend, though he’d thought that prospects with Viola had looked positive for Dean. “Of course. I forgot.”

Dean made their apologies, Castiel inclining his head at each woman, and they left the bar.

They were quiet as they walked out to the parking lot and got into the Impala. Dean started the car and steered it out of the lot and towards the two lane road that would take them back to the bunker. Castiel rested his hands on his knees and looked out of the window, grateful to be away from the noisy bar. The rumble of the Impala formed a meditative center that he used to marshal his emotional response.

“I’d choose flight,” Dean said as he slowed the car to take a turn. “What I said before? It’s just a pickup line.”

“I see. Invisibility is a more desirable trait?” Castiel wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Most humans did not possess any unique powers to speak of so how one impossibility could be more attractive than another was beyond him.

“Chicks dig it.”

“I see.” He didn’t.

“But I’d choose flight, just so you know.”

Castiel nodded and added it to his trove of facts about Dean. “A far superior choice, I think.”

Dean laughed quietly. “Yeah, well, I thought that before but the way you talked about it…” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “You miss it?”

“I- When I was human I would dream of it, sometimes.”

“Yeah? Did you- Did you dream a lot?”

Castiel tipped his head back. “I’m not sure how my experience might compare quantitatively. But it was every night. And most nights I did part the aether at some point, even if only briefly during the course of the dream.” He frowned. “Dreaming is odd. When I woke I could pick out all the elements that weren’t accurate to the true experience. It was easy to see the flaws. But while I was in the dream it felt real.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain.”

Dean hummed. “Dunno, man. That sounds like as good a description of dreaming as I’ve ever heard.”

The sound of the road engulfed the car again and lasted until Dean parked it in the bunker’s garage. He switched off the engine and turned towards Castiel, shifting his torso so that he faced him entirely. Castiel turned as well and raised his brow. This was Dean in declaration mode.

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Dean sighed and his fist clenched against the seat back. “I’m sorry about your wings, man.”

“Oh. Me too,” he smiled sadly at Dean and resigned himself to the emotion for the time being.

“If I could do anything…”

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t think there is anything that can be done. Or undone.”

Dean frowned and nodded slightly. Less in acquiescence, Castiel thought, and more as a reflexive affect he took on when deep in thought. Dean reached out and gripped his shoulder. His hand lingered for a moment and Castiel fixed on his gaze, trying to read the reams of information in his eyes. “I guess I just wanted you to know.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean settled back again and slapped his palm on his thigh. “Okay. Well, I guess we should head in? Mom’ll be here soon. Figured I'd stick a pizza in the oven before she gets here.”

“I'm sure she will appreciate that.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Cas. And, uh, thanks for coming with tonight.”

“It was my pleasure, Dean.” Castiel followed Dean into the bunker and settled in the reading room to leaf through a dusty old tome filled with illustrations of cat entrails while Dean went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. The ancient and laughably imprecise art of haruspicy occupied him until banging on the bunker door announced Mary’s arrival. He made his way up the bunker’s wrought stairwell, then threw open the door revealing Mary just outside. She wore a thick woolen hat pulled nearly over her eyes as a snowflake laced gust tousled the hair underneath and whisked her nose bright red. “Merry Christmas, Mary,” he said and gestured for her to come inside, appraising her as she stepped around him and onto the landing. She looked better. Her features were smoother and the circles under her eyes diminished. Her soul looked steadier as well, and its pulse felt more attuned to the rhythms of the physical plane than with Heaven.

Mary smiled at him and thrust out a brown paper shopping bag. “Merry Christmas, Castiel.”


	2. Christmas in the Bunker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters and Castiel celebrate Christmas in the bunker.

Castiel reflexively grabbed the bag Mary proffered and looked at it curiously. “What is this?”

“Presents, Castiel.” Mary bustled inside, took off her hat, and shook it to dispel the snow. “Weather’s getting bad out there.” She peered over the balcony to look over the war room. “Where are the boys?”

“Dean is in the kitchen and Sam is-“

“Here,” Sam called as he emerged from the hallway. He grinned up at them. “Hey, Mom.”

“Sam,” Mary said as she started down the stairs, Castiel following in her wake.

Sam embraced Mary warmly then took the bag from her. He peered inside. “Hey. We said no gifts.” He looked pleased, however, and took three brightly wrapped packages from the bag and laid them on the end of the war room table, where Dean had set up a small folding tree he’d found at a Gas ’n’ Sip during a vampire hunt earlier in the month. It had a little battery pack glued near the base and when it was switched on, small multicolored LED lights flashed along the edges. Sam looked at Castiel with arched brows. “Want to tell Dean that she’s here?”

“Of course,” Castiel said. He tucked his hands in his pockets and headed for the kitchen.

Dean was busy slicing up two large pizzas in a kitchen redolent with the smell of warm bread. Long, cheesy strings criss-crossed over the toppings as he cut through the steaming crust. He paused as Castiel entered the kitchen, swiping his fingers along the pizza cutter and shoving a glob of the accumulated cheese into his mouth. He grinned at Castiel. “Hey, Cas. Just in time to help me carry this out. Did I hear Mom get here?”

“You did.” Castiel picked up one of the pans of pizza, hot to the touch but bearable, and hooked a few fingers under the handle of a sweating six pack of beer Dean had set on the counter. “She looks well.”

Dean stopped cutting the second pizza and closed his eyes for a moment. “Happy?” Castiel hummed in assent and something in Dean seemed to unknot. His shoulders sagged and he tucked a roll of paper towels under one arm and picked up the other pizza. “I’ve been worried about her.”

“Of course you are. She’s your mother. She seems pleased to be here.”

“Hope so.” Dean started to walk towards the kitchen door and then paused. “You know, this’ll be Sam’s first Christmas with Mom. As in, first Christmas ever.”

“She died before-?”

“His first Christmas. Yeah. That was a…bad Christmas” Dean shook his head absently then frowned at the pizza. “I just want it to be kinda special for them, you know?” His brow furrowed. “I shoulda done more. Maybe some lights? Maybe I should’ve done a real tree?” He splayed his hand out expressively as he stared at the pizza in his hands. “Gone all out.”

“Hmmm. I suspect that just being together is enough. Though your cardboard tree is inspiring on its own.”

“Just like they had in Bethlehem, right?” Dean’s tone was light but he looked at Castiel with his mouth drawn up as though trying to puzzle something out.

“In the spirit of it, perhaps,” Castiel said. He rested the beer on the counter and frowned at Dean. “Your family is together, Dean. Try not to overthink it.”

Dean looked at him, wide eyes betraying an edge of vulnerability Castiel rarely saw displayed before they snapped back to their usual insouciance. “Have you met me?” He shook his head and took a few steps forward, drawing even with Castiel. He held Castiel’s gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes to his lapel. In the quiet kitchen Dean’s heart shuddered in his chest, loud as a signal drum.“You’re right. Not overthinking it.” With that, Dean brushed past Castiel and led the way out of the kitchen.

Before long, half eaten pizza crusts on paper plates littered the table and empty beer bottles lined up along one edge like sentinels. The whole arrangement was surrounded by a wreath of crumpled napkins. “This is certainly different,” observed Mary as she looked at the circles of condensation pooling above Russia. “I feel like I should be pushing around little tanks and battleships. Not eating pizza.”

“Plotting battles under the glow of the tree,” Sam said, lifting his beer in a toast.

Mary laughed and clinked her bottle against his. “Exactly.”

Dean humphed and said, “Don’t know what you two are complaining about. That sounds awesome to me.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, then shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “So, uh, did you and Dad ever do anything special for Christmas or…”

Castiel watched as Mary looked down for brief, quiet moment. He was reminded of the time he first really talked to her before she left the bunker. His breath caught at the sorrow she packaged in that one small glance downward before her lips parted in that gentle smile he was coming to associate with her. “Oh, we had our fun. When Dean was a baby we actually went on a ski vacation, of all things. Took turns taking care of Dean while the other hit the slopes. Endless diapers and bottles and ski wax.” She chuckled. “I can’t say we got much sleep on that trip but oh, it was so much fun. We decided after that to travel every Christmas. Go somewhere new each year.”

Dean smiled, swirling the last few swallows of beer around in his bottle. “That sounds awesome.” His eyes flicked to Sam. “On the road…”

“Well. We only managed it that first year,” Mary said. “The next year John had to work and after that it just kind of…fell away. I don’t really think we even realized it. Suddenly it was the end of the year and we just kept on with our ordinary lives.” She sighed and tipped her head back, closing her eyes briefly. “Oh, that first year was wonderful, though.” She looked at Dean and scrunched her nose. “The best part of Christmas after you were born was watching you open presents.” Dean looked down almost shyly and Castiel, seated at his side, noticed his pleased smile as Mary continued. “You’d tear at the paper like a little beast. When you were three you got a tricycle. We wrapped the whole thing in about a roll of paper. I was still finding pieces of wrapping paper in the living room a month later.”

“Aww. Dean on a tricycle sounds adorable,” Sam said.

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said with a mock scowl. He swallowed the last of his beer and set it on the table, in line with the rest of the empties. He tapped the empty bottle. “Should I get…?” He pushed himself back from the table and began to stand.

“Let me,” Castiel said. He waved his hand at Dean, imploring him to sit, and went back to the kitchen. He could hear the Winchesters’ laughter echoing through the underground rooms and their merriment made the bunker somehow warmer. Mary seemed to be expanding on the tricycle story and Castiel wondered, not for the first time, what Dean had been like before darkness bled into his life. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of it in moments of joy, depressingly rare. In those moments the barriers Dean built around his soul fell. Watching him then was like watching the sun through a break in the clouds - blindingly brilliant and fleeting. Castiel pulled open the refrigerator and got out a second case of beer.

In the war room Mary’s voice murmured again, punctuated by Dean’s gut-deep laugh and Sam’s careful chuckle. Castiel slowly closed the refrigerator door and set the case of beer briefly on the counter. Sam and Dean - and even Mary - were happy in that room and the space they occupied wobbled with a warm orange energy. It might not last, of course. Experiences of his own, paired with what he’d observed of the Winchesters’ lives, taught him that. Those three had lost and regained so much and being close to it was enough to send echoes of their joy and pain through Castiel. His thoughts strayed to his own family. He, too, had lost so much of his family. A cascade of terrible decisions severed so many of his ties to Heaven and his kin. He allowed his eyes to close as he sunk into his brethren’s communication wave and counted it as a blessing that he was still allowed this tenuous connection after all of his failures. It was still difficult for him to decide whether he was stranded on Earth - or whether he had chosen it. His brothers and sisters’ discussion surrounded him and Castiel let himself get dragged into talk of healing and prayer and Heavenly affairs.

“Hey, man. You okay?”

Castiel started at Dean’s voice and opened his eyes. The beer sat on the counter, slightly warmer that he remembered and he wondered how long he’d let himself sink into angel radio. “Yes,” he said, somewhat unsteadily. “I’m fine, Dean.” He grabbed the beer and started for the doorway, embarrassed to be caught longing after his siblings.

Dean held out one hand and laid it on his chest, blocking his exit. “Bullshit.”

Castiel hesitated, sighed, and admitted, “I was just listening to angel radio.”

Dean’s expression immediately grew taught. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, Dean.” At Dean’s look of skepticism he continued, “Truly. I was only touching base. I didn’t mean to lose track of time.” He held up the beer. “I’ll bring these out. And then I-“ Castiel paused for a moment as he realized what he was going to say next. “I should go.”

Dean’s face immediately fell. “What? Why? Is there something going on? Something you’re not telling me? Cas, c’mon. You know we take the big shit better when we do it as a team.”

“It’s not that. It’s not-“ Castiel pursed his lips, searching for a way to explain how he felt. “It’s not anything you should worry about. I just was, ah, thinking about family.”

“Yeah.” Dean watched him warily.

“Your family is still learning to come together. With Mary back… I don’t want to get in the way. You all need some time, Dean. This is the perfect time to reconnect. I should go and you’ll all have some time to--”

“Cas, don’t be an idiot.”

“Dean.”

“You’re our family too, Cas,” Dean said quietly. “Like it or not, I want you here. We want you here.” His fists tightened at his sides. “So don’t fucking go, okay?”

Castiel stood for a moment, or a thousand moments as he searched Dean’s face. The barriers Dean built around his soul rose and fell like tides but Castiel drew out hints of rose-red need and sorrow as green and deep as an evergreen forest. “Okay,” he said finally. “Family. I’ll stay.” He grabbed the beer for the third time, hesitated, then placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, fingers grazing under the lapel of his flannel shirt. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean shrugged but Castiel could detect a hint of a smile and it warmed him immensely. They headed back to the war room together.

Despite declaring a “no gifts” policy all three Winchesters and Castiel pulled out presents after dinner. Sam gave Mary an iPad (“Easy learning curve,” he told her with a smile.). Dean received motor oil and beef jerky (“Tradition,” Sam explained to Mary) and Castiel opened a foil wrapped package with a new tie. Castiel smiled, touched, as he pulled out the silky blue tie. “Thank you, Sam,” he said as he took off his blue and white tie and tied on his new gift.

Mary gave Sam a warm pair of gloves, Dean opened a silver knife with all the joy of a child unwrapping train cars, and Castiel received a framed picture of the three Winchesters. On the back Mary had written, _You Belong_. He clasped the photo to him, touched beyond words. Mary smiled at him and nodded. No words needed to be said.

Castiel gave Sam a book of ancient lore he’d uncovered at a dusty library in New Orleans. Mary received a collection of photos Castiel had taken over the years, printed out and placed in a simple bound photo album. Dean looked at him and grinned, sneaking him a thumbs up as Mary flipped through the pages. To Dean he gave a flight of honey infused sipping liquors.

Dean pulled out two gifts. Mary opened a kit for her car. “Your car’s a little older so… In case of emergency.” Sam received a new iPod. “I don’t want to know what you’re gonna put on it, man.” Castiel sat wearing his new tie with the photo on the table before him and was content. Boozy eggnog followed and they sat around the war room table and talked for a long while. Finally, Sam headed to bed, closely followed by a yawning Mary.

“Well,” Dean said, stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders popped. “Better turn in.” Castiel nodded and stood, prepared to shift back to the library table and the book of lore he’d been reading. “Cas.” Dean cleared his throat. “You’re, uh, probably wondering about your present.”

“Dean, you don’t need to get me anything.”

Dean laughed, a little nervously. “Well, I didn’t. Technically. I didn’t know what to get you. I mean, what do you get for the angel who…” He trailed off and tipped back his chair before rocking forward with a thud. He pushed back from the table so he stood eye to eye with Castiel.

Castiel, feeling oddly formal, looked back into his eyes. 

“Listen, I know this won’t be the same. Can’t be the same. But you said it felt like you could fly in your dreams. I know you don’t dream anymore. But I do. And I just thought maybe you could…” Dean took a deep breath as though steadying himself. “You could use my dreams. To fly.”

Castiel was silent as a thrill rushed through him. Flying in Dean’s dreams? Was it possible? Almost unintentionally he said, “Yes, Dean. Yes, I would like to try that very much.”


	3. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel flies.

“Really?” Dean asked and Castiel noticed his neck begin to flush. He rubbed the short hairs at the back of his head. “‘Cause it sounds kind of stupid now that it’s outta my mouth.”

“Stupid…” Castiel echoed as a solid weight plummeted to his gut. It had been years since he had dreamed but even when they were full of fire and pain he had still treasured them. In dreams the mind had the ability to create Heaven on Earth. In his short time as a human and when he lay dying from stolen grace dreams had been a balm against the wounds dealt by the day. And he hadn’t walked in Dean’s dreams since before the apocalypse was averted. Castiel wondered what it would be like now that he better understood the possibility dreams could provide. But apparently it was not to be.

Dean sighed and sat back down, folding into the chair in a way that would have been dramatic if Dean had been given to fits of drama. “I dunno, man. I just don’t want to get your hopes up. I- I shouldn’t have- Maybe I-“

“Dean.” Castiel settled into the chair opposite him again and leaned forward, stretching his hand across the map. “I like the idea. I want to try it.” He curled his fingers and pulled his hand back to his side. “It’s okay if it doesn’t work.” Dean said nothing, scrubbing his fingers through his hair as though trying to scratch an answer from his head. “Please,” Castiel said finally. “Please. Let’s try.”

Dean dropped his hand to the table at Castiel’s plea and slowly extended it across, palm up. Castiel hesitated, then clasped it in his own. Dean’s fingers tightened briefly and then he let go and pushed back, setting both palms on the table in a businesslike manner. “Okay.” Dean laughed nervously. “Let’s do this. Uh…guess I gotta go to sleep?”

Castiel relaxed in his chair as the corner of his mouth tugged into a smile. “Yes. That’s typically a precursor to dreaming.”

“Smartass.” Dean looked at the surface of the table, the traces of a smile growing. “Uh, I don’t really think sleeping here’s gonna work. My room?” He met Castiel’s eye and lifted his brows as though asking permission. As though he hadn’t just invited Castiel into his mind - and unless Castiel was mistaken - into his bedroom.

Anticipation crawled over Castiel’s skin and he sternly marshaled it. This was a gift between friends - a brief attempt at a dream - and nothing more.

The halls weren’t quiet as they walked towards Dean’s bedroom. In the distance Castiel could hear water running in the shared bathroom from Sam or Mary preparing to sleep. Yet to Castiel silence screamed around them. Dean didn’t say a word as he led Castiel towards his bedroom and Castiel reciprocated. Dean’s shoulders sat square and taut as though confronting a monster on a hunt. He swung open his door with a loud creak and stood aside, allowing Castiel to pass before closing it again.

“Okay,” he said finally, breath gusting out of him. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet and looked at Castiel. “Let’s do this.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, not liking the wide-eyed look Dean sent his way. It looked too close to fear. “We don’t-“ He stared absently towards Dean’s weapon wall. “You don’t have to do this. If it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll go. I’ll see you in the morning, Dean.” He turned on his heel, reaching for the knob and focused just over Dean’s shoulder, suddenly afraid to read his expression. “Good night, Dean.”

“Cas, what the fuck, wait.” Dean grabbed him by the sleeve, fingers twisting into the fabric of his suit coat. He tugged Castiel so that they faced each other. “Cas. Buddy. I’m fine with this. It’s just been a while since I’ve had anybody in my head but me, you know?” He frowned. “Truth is, it’s been a shitty…decade. Don’t know if anyone should spend time in my dreams.”

Castiel sighed and clasped Dean on the shoulder, fingers pressing in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He chased after words before finally settling on, “It would be my honor, Dean. Truly.”

Dean nodded once and then turned towards the bed, settling on the edge and leaning over to unlace his boots. He laughed shortly, his face hidden. “Been a while since you watched me sleep, huh?”

“A few years, yes.” Castiel took a breath, crossed the room, and settled in the desk chair. He folded his hands and leaned against the chair back as Dean kicked off his boots one at a time. “Is it still ‘creepy’?”

Dean chuckled. He swung his legs onto the bed. “Not gonna lie. It’s a little weird.” He lay back, scooting up until his head rested on the pillow. Dean crossed his legs at his ankles and laced his fingers together over his stomach. He cleared his throat, wriggled his head into his pillow and closed his eyes. A moment later he smacked his lips, squinched his eyes tighter, and cleared his throat again. Another short minute of stillness passed before he unlaced his fingers, crossed his arms, then laid them down by his side before bringing up his hands to lace them together again.

Castiel smiled fondly and refrained from commenting on the routine aside from, “Would you like me to leave while you fall asleep?”

“Heh. Uh, yeah. No offense, Cas, but I feel like I’m on stage or something.”

Castiel stood and hovered for a moment near Dean, who opened first one eye then the other. “Thank you,” he told him, trying to infuse his words with feeling.

Dean crossed his arms again. “Sure, man. See you soon, I guess.” Castiel nodded and turned to go. “And, Cas? You’ll know when I fall asleep, right?”

Castiel paused and turned, quirking his mouth into a half grin. “Of course, Dean.” He turned to leave Dean’s room again, this time to a mumbled singsong from the bed, _He sees you when you’re sleeping…_

He went to the library and settled in front of the haruspicy book again, flipping through the pages and only half absorbing it. He sat out there for two hours before a surly Dean staggered into the hallway.

“Dean.”

“I ain’t asleep.”

“I gathered as much.”

Dean sighed, letting his whole body slump against the door frame. “Can you come?” He pressed two fingers to his forehead and threw his head back.

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel followed him back down the hallway to his bedroom. Dean settled on the bed again and Castiel leaned over carefully, hesitating momentarily with his fingers hovering inches from Dean’s skin. When Dean nodded he pressed his fingers to his forehead and sent Dean’s body to sleep. Then he settled in the desk chair again to wait for REM sleep. After a little while Dean’s eyelids began to tremble and Castiel closed his own eyes and leapt into Dean’s dream space.

He found Dean in a field on his hands and knees, panting as he strained to crane his neck above the prairie grasses and goldenrod that surrounded him like a sea. He tried to lift each hand and each knee and with every attempt the ground pulled up with the limb, anchoring him in place. Ahead, black smoke boiled through the grasses. Panicked now, Dean pulled harder, canting sideways with the effort of attempting to escape. Castiel ran to him, grabbing at his shoulder and side and trying to haul him upright. But this dream ran by Dean’s rules and Dean began to collapse, one whole side of him sinking into the brittle prairie. Castiel pulled once more, fruitlessly, then skirted Dean to place himself between the boiling black smoke and Dean.

“Dean. Dean!” He wrapped his hands around Dean’s face, fingers slipping behind his ears and tugging at him, willing him to focus his gaze on himself instead of The Darkness’ steady approach. “Dean! I’m here. I’m here!” And then Dean’s eyes widened a fraction and the ground released him. They both fell through the grass and down, down, down into the dirt.

Castiel landed with a loud wooden thud on a hard surface and Dean landed crosswise on his torso. Warm sun bathed them both and Castiel blinked up into it and looked around. They were on a dock with water and forest all around. His mouth dropped open. They were at THE lake.

Dean pushed himself upright and rolled off of Castiel to sit, legs akimbo, next to him on the dock. His hands trembled where he pressed them into the wooden planks. “Sorry, Cas.”

Castiel rubbed at his jaw and met Dean’s eye. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Dean snorted at that and, groaning, stood up on the dock. “Shit, man. I meant to bring you here. Or, you know, meet you here.” He smiled his usual embarrassed half smile. “Like last time.”

Castiel looked around the dock and planted his hands in his pockets. He tipped his chin back and let the sun fall full on his face. It felt absolutely real. He inhaled the woodsy scent of the lake. It smelled like Creation. “I remember.”

“So, uh,” Dean sidled towards the lawn chair set up on the end of the dock. A fishing pole lay across the planks under the chair. “I’ll just hang out here? And you can fly as long as I’m asleep?”

Castiel grinned. “Okay.” He took his hands from his pockets again, fanned out his ethereal wings, and flew.

Or, rather, he tried. Instead, he found himself in Dean’s bedroom, collapsed over his own knees in Dean’s desk chair and gasping for air like a man drowning. On his bed, Dean did the same, wrestling himself upright.

“Fuck! Fuck, man.” He laid a hand on his chest and then scratched it through his hair. “What the fuck was that?”

Castiel mastered himself, pushing himself upright. He sighed and leaned back in the chair. He suspected by the crestfallen look on Dean’s face that he wasn’t hiding his disappointment nearly as well as he intended. “It didn’t work.”

 

**Three Days Later**

 

Dean crouched in a tight coil staring at Sam who lay bloodied and still on a dusty cabin floor. The light was dim or the dream half blurred. Either way, Castiel had to squint to make out more than an outline of Dean in the muddy gray room. The only thing in sharp relief was Sam’s body. “Dean,” he sighed, then leaned down and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The dream jolted and they stood in the bunker, Castiel’s hand still on Dean. Castiel looked around. The details of the bunker were perfect, except instead of a library of ancient and mystical tomes the shelves appeared to be packed full of slim editions of porn magazines. Several were open on the library table, as though abandoned mid-study. Dean stood and turned to face Castiel, eyes shifting away for a moment as though embarrassed. 

“Cas. What’re you doing here?”

“It’s not important.” Castiel picked up a magazine and flipped through it, turning it sideways so that an accordion centerfold could flip out. He raised his brows.

Dean snatched the magazine from him. “What’re you doing in my dream, man? Not that I’m complaining but…you know, isn’t it polite to knock first or something?”

Castiel felt himself flush and cursed internally for being at the mercy of Dean’s dream rules. He willed himself to quell the blood coloring his cheeks but that only seemed to make it worse. He shrugged. “I may know of a way to fly. I thought we could try it?”

Dean settled on the table edge. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Well, you can think of your mind as a kind of pocket universe, almost. The world and everything in your dream bends to your rules and your experience. I thought…maybe we could try flying together? I take you with me, that is. The problem might be that without your…experience…”

“You don’t exist?”

“Something like that.”

“Hmm. So, what, this would be like when you’d…” Dean drew his hand through the air in a jumping motion. “Just…bam. Fly and land?”

“I think so. Maybe.” He flexed his fingers and then held out his hand palm up as though in question.

Dean made a disgusted face but nodded. “Flights are a little rough on the human end. But I’m game.”

“Thank you.” Castiel smiled broadly and reached for Dean, wrapping his fingers around his forearm. He should talk it over more, find the flaws, but he found himself too eager to care. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Dean closed his eyes and Castiel spread his wings and…

Nothing happened. Again.

Castiel deflated. He knew he did because Dean’s face went from surprised to sorrowful as he looked up at Castiel. They still stood in the porn-filled bunker library. Castiel pinched his fingers on the bridge of his nose then looked at Dean and squinted. “I wonder if the problem lies with you.” Dean flinched at that and Castiel hastened to add, “There’s nothing wrong with you, Dean. I just think, because we are doing this in your own mind, that the problem is belief. You haven’t seen me fly, or seen my true wings.” He ran his hand up Dean’s arm and rested it against his cheek. With only the slightest hesitation Dean leaned into it, fitting his cheek into the round hollows of Castiel’s palm. “You lack faith, my friend,” he said and smiled to see Dean’s mouth quirk a little at his phrasing. “You lack faith that I can fly.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said in a near whisper, his breath tickling Castiel’s wrist. “I know you can fly. You used to pop in whenever and wherever the fuck you wanted. In the car, hotel rooms, in the shower…”

“I never-“

Dean raised a brow.

“Once. I once flew in while you were in the shower. Accidentally.” He waved a hand in dismissal and felt warmth threaten to turn his skin pink again. “It isn’t important.” He took a deep breath to steady the rush of nerves that threatened to engulf him. “Anyway. I wonder if you don’t quite believe it. You always refer to my flight as ‘zapping’ when truly I am borne by the power of my wings as they cut across the dimensions.”

“In other words, ‘zapping’.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean’s shit-eating grin. “I think it’s time, Dean. Time to show you.” He stepped closer so they were only separated by inches.

Dean sucked in a breath and swayed where he stood before asking in a barely audible voice, “Show me what?”

Castiel shifted his hand to Dean’s temple. “Part of my true self.” His fingers pushed into Dean’s hairline and splayed around his ear. Blue light pooled at his fingertips and Dean’s eyes fluttered closed as Castiel opened a pinhole window into his grace. Through it Castiel sent him a pared down vision of his true aspect, wings and all. He felt the memory take hold through their connection and closed his eyes, giving himself over to Dean’s mind. His body morphed from his human vessel’s form and he rocketed up through the bunker’s ceiling and into darkness.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice crashed the stillness like a wave. He felt immense once again. Powerful. Free. He bared his teeth even as he asked, “Are you alright?”

“What the fuck…” Dean’s voice was small and far below.

“Where are you?” It was cave-dark, which shouldn’t have been a barrier for Cas’s ability to find Dean. But then again, Dean’s dream rules applied.

“I gotta do all the work here, huh?”

Slowly light flooded the dream as though a lazy sunrise enveloped them. The dawn revealed a beach. Waves splashed at Castiel’s taloned feet and his tertiary wings curled to cover them instinctively before he remembered that Dean’s unconscious manifestation of his own mind was at ground level and likely near his feet. He stopped their progress to avoid knocking into Dean and folded them neatly along his back. “Dean,” he rumbled again. “You did it.” He still spoke in Jimmy’s voice, though it was now amplified by his larger form.

“The question is, what did I do?” Dean fell quiet for a moment and Castiel could see him, far below, scratching absently through his hair again as he craned his chin upward. “Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Shouldn’t I be dead? Seeing you like this? Hearing you? Or am I dead now? Is this—”

“Not dead,” Castiel assured. “You saw a fragment of my grace and even then, modulated by your own mind. And this voice…my voice…is one of many. My true form spans dimensions and it can be more than most mortals can handle.” Castiel folded himself down, his many jointed legs accordianing into a crouch. His primary and tertiary wings settled along his back in neat rows and his secondary wings curled around his head like a halo. He extended one feathered hand down to Dean’s level and held it out for his examination. He shivered as Dean ran both hands over the fine whorled feathers that covered his wrist.

“Couldn’t have just shown me your wings, huh?”

Castiel shook his head and his face took on the aspect of a stag. He dragged his antlers back and forth. “I don’t…I can’t think of myself another way. I know that you humans have concepts of angels as—“

“Can ya blame me? I mean, I’ve seen your wing display how many times? It always looks like it was attached to a human. Bet any of those bible thumping saints thought the same. It’s just…what I’m used to seeing.”

Castiel’s secondary wings drooped a little. “I’m sorry I’m not what—“

“Cas,” Dean said and he dug his fingers under a few feathers. Despite himself, Castiel rumbled. Dean laughed and slid his fingers to caress where skin met quill. “This - you - are awesome, man. I never pictured it because I-“ He craned his neck up to where the sunlight glinted on Castiel’s antlers. “Fuck. You’re amazing.”

The whorls in his feathers glowed Mediterranean blue and Castiel flicked out his primary wings. They stretched into the cloudless sky in Dean’s dreamscape. “Now do you believe I can fly?”

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean removed his hand from the feathers and Castiel barely repressed a shudder at the loss. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Can we try it now?” Castiel curled his hand into the warm sand, palm up in invitation, and Dean hesitated only a moment before clambering up. He settled cross legged in Castiel’s palm. Castiel positioned his fingers like a protective cage and then drew his hands to his chest as though in prayer.

“Let’s do this,” Dean shouted and ecstasy colored the beach vermillion.

Castiel stretched his wings and beat them once, sending a flurry of sand racing toward the ocean. His wings felt strong and real enough against the thick sea air. He extended his wings once more. And then they flew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG dudes. One more chapter to go. Possible/probable smut warnings ahead.


	4. In and Out of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Two nights later Castiel found himself settled on the couch watching TV. He’d learned that watching television, despite its general lack of viewer participation, was considered to be a social activity. He sat on the couch, emulating Sam and Dean by stretching his legs out to perch his feet on the coffee table, and tried to lose himself in the horror movie on the screen. On the television a man ran through an open forest, screaming for help. Every glance back renewed the vigor of his screams and Castiel fought the urge to point out that not only did his frequent looks backward slow him down but they prevented him from watching where he placed his feet. _Ah, yes. He’s gone down. Watch those roots._ The camera splattered with blood, obscuring the man’s face as he died bloody.

The Winchesters tended to treat horror movies as their own comedy genre but tonight they were largely silent. Dean fidgeted next to him on the couch, no doubt as preoccupied as Castiel with yet another evening of dream flying ahead of them. Sam, reclining in a ratty armchair they’d rescued from a curb, sent enough quizzical glances Dean’s way that Castiel doubted he’d seen much of the movie at all. When the ending credits began to roll, Dean stretched, arching his back against the couch, and popped his feet off the coffee table. He slapped his knees and announced loudly, “Man, I’m beat. Hittin’ it, guys.”

Castiel nodded, conscientiously keeping his expression impassive while joy fluttered in his chest. The forgettable movie was already a smear of memory against what was really important that evening: more flying. “Good night.” He sat up, removing his own feet from the coffee table, and wondered how he would spend the time until Sam headed to bed.

“‘Night,” Sam said, watching Dean walk towards the hallway with a shrewd look on his face. As soon as Dean was out of sight he swiveled towards Castiel. “Okay. What’s up with you two?”

Castiel’s traitorous heart began to thump. “What? Nothing.”

“Uh huh.” Sam leaned forward, elbows on knees, and leveled his FBI glare on Castiel. “What the hell is going on, Cas? If you two were trying to protect Mary from something, I’d get it. But she left two days ago and this is _me_. Whatever bad shit is going on, you can tell me.”

Castiel sighed. “Why does everyone in this family assume the worst?”

Sam frowned. “Usually because it is. C’mon, Cas. Is it Heaven? The Men of Letters? A problem with Crowley? Whatever it is, we’re stronger together. You know that.” He shook his head, eyes wide with hurt. “I know protecting me is Dean’s first instinct, always. But you and I are friends too, Cas. I wish you wouldn’t try to protect me, too.”

Castiel sighed. “Sam, I-“

“Cas. Please.” Sam pressed his hands together and bowed his head. “Please. Just trust me.”

“Sam, I promise you. It’s nothing bad.”

Sam rocked backwards and clapped his hands together while his smile switched on like a light. “Ah ha! So there is something.”

Castiel shifted in his seat with the uncomfortable feeling that he might have just been played by Sam Winchester. “Nothing of import, Sam.”

“Nothing of import,” Sam said in a half-mocking tone. “Come on, Cas. Please, just tell me. Dean’s been staring at you for the last couple of days like you have three heads.”

 _Four, actually,_ Castiel thought and he smiled a little bit at that as he considered Sam’s request. The flights in Dean’s dreamspace had felt so intimate, it almost felt like a violation of trust to say anything. But he supposed that at its core, Dean helping him to experience flight wasn’t truly a secret. Castiel’s dream flights were a direct result of his own shortcomings, after all. Besides, he knew the Winchesters well. If Castiel ignored Sam’s plea then Sam would go to Dean. If Dean deflected his questions then seeds of mistrust, so recently weeded from the brothers’ relationship, would likely resprout. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before he said, “Your brother has been letting me use his dreams to experience flight again.”

Whatever Sam was expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. He sputtered and dropped his jaw. “You- He- What?” His brow wrinkled. “Say that again,” he demanded, “but make sense this time.”

Castiel explained it to him in as plain and unemotional terms as possible because the more he talked about it, the more he felt as though he was revealing too much of the last few days. When he finished, Sam settled back in his chair. “Huh,” Sam said. He shook his head, staring at Castiel. “Huh.”

“And that’s basically…it,” Castiel finished lamely. He scrunched up his face and shrugged. When Sam’s silence stretched on Castiel continued, “So I suppose I’ll just go then?” When he met no protest from Sam, Castiel bid him goodnight and headed for the hallway.

He couldn’t shake the feeling, as he walked to Dean’s bedroom, that he had betrayed some intimate detail about Dean to his brother. It was an odd feeling, and one he couldn’t easily pinpoint. He supposed it was because flight in Dean’s dreams, while spectacular, was ultimately a product of their two minds cooperating on a concept. Castiel provided the basic sketch. Dean’s imagination filled in the gaps. That meant that in almost every way Dean had gotten flight - and Castiel’s true form - wrong. It couldn’t be helped. Dean’s perception would always be limited to what he could know and experience on Earth’s physical plane. Castiel’s multidimensional body had been simplified into a flesh and matter being. The mechanism and sensations of flight had changed from slicing his wings through dimensional rifts to soaring eagle-like over mountain peaks. He still missed his true wings but he couldn’t deny how incredible it felt to feel the slow caress of wind in his feathers. He hadn’t been corporeal in his true form since God created the Veil that separated Heaven and Earth but he thought he understood now why God had begun requiring angels to take vessels. Even imaginary wind and rain and sun had a seductive effect on an angel’s wings. If it could be felt for real then angels would never go back to Heaven.

Castiel arrived at Dean’s door and opened it, long past the point where knocking seemed necessary. Dean sat on his bed, flipping through a magazine, head leaning against the headboard. He looked up when Castiel entered and smiled. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel closed the door and crossed the room, toeing off his shoes and sliding onto Dean’s bed. He settled cross legged next to Dean so his knees lined up along his torso. Dean scooted down until his head rested on the pillow and closed his eyes in anticipation. Castiel sighed and prodded his shoulder until Dean opened his eyes. “Dean, I feel you should know something.”

“What’s up?”

“Sam knows.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel. “Uh huh,” he said dryly. “And how’d that happen?”

“He asked me what was going on. I-“ He looked down at his hands. “I felt there were enough secrets in our past. I’m sorry if I-“

Dean huffed out a short laugh. “Well, you’re not wrong there.” He folded his legs and knit his fingers over his head. “You did the right thing, Cas,” he said easily.

Castiel leaned backwards, surprised at his ready acceptance. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, man. And hey, maybe Sam’ll finally stop getting after me about not getting enough sleep. I’ve been getting, what? A solid eight hours every night this week?” He grinned. “Next thing you know I’ll be eating better.”

“What a terrible thought.” Castiel shook his head. ”If you’re sure then. Are you ready?”

Dean closed his eyes again. “Yes. And yeah.”

Castiel reached out two fingers and pressed them gently against Dean’s forehead.

For the third night in a row he met Dean on the beach instead of in the midst of some nightmare. Castiel blossomed into his dream angelic form and crouched down to pull Dean into his hand.

Dean swatted at his extended palm. “Hold on, dude. I’ve got something I wanna try tonight.”

“Okay,” Castiel’s reply rumbled like thunder across the saltwater bay.

Dean paced backward several steps and then stood still in the sand, legs wide and eyes focused on Castiel. “Close your eyes,” Dean called out.

“Why?” His secondary wings fanned in surprise before snapping back to crown his head.

“Just do it, Cas.”

Castiel closed his eyes and dialed his limited dream senses down as low as he could. When Dean told him to open them again he stumbled backward and his wings had to catch him and propel him upright again. 

Dean stood before him, utterly transformed. Dean had discarded his human body for a replica of Castiel’s true form. Well, a replica with modifications. He now stood eye to eye with Castiel, matte black and chrome feathers fluttering in the ocean breeze. His arms and legs were tapered and multi-jointed culminating in taloned hands and feet that flexed in the air and through the hot sand as though Dean were working out the mechanics of the new body. Horns shot from his head like rectangular lightning bolts above an angular animal face, brown and spotted with tiny down chrome feathers. Six wings adorned his back. They were all fully extended - even the tertiary set, filling the sky and blotting out the horizon.

An incoherent whine escaped Castiel’s wolfish snout as his own wings stirred in response.

Dean drew the impala’s mouth up into a half grin, an oddly human gesture on the animal face. “What do you think?” His eyes seemed to dim at Castiel’s stunned silence. “Sorry, is this—? This is probably…”

Castiel could see Dean’s adopted form begin to whither, the wings folding inward and his legs and arms trembling like a mirage as they began to revert to human form. With his only thought to stop that bereft look on Dean’s face, Castiel flapped his wings and propelled himself into Dean. He grabbed at Dean’s neck, sliding his talons through the feathers and blue grace dotted his hand as he laid his head against Dean’s and closed his eyes. He heard Dean gasp as he sent a burst of information to Dean - what the wing display meant and what a feather caress truly felt like. He opened his eyes and pulled back a fraction. The chrome whorls in Dean’s feathers began to glow silvery white and it was Dean’s turn to sway as sensation flooded him. He butted his head into Castiel’s, then lifted an answering hand and laced it through the ruff feathers around Castiel’s neck, teasing his talons around the sensitive quills and leaving them in disarray.

“Dean,” Castiel gasped as he traced his fingers through Dean’s feathers and around to his back where the secondary set of wings anchored. He began to run a hand up the curve of the primary wing bone, all the while leaching sensation into the dream, teaching Dean. Dean mirrored him, moving closer so their bodies pressed together. He tangled a foot between Castiel’s and something hard and hot pressed against Castiel’s thigh. _Wait, that isn’t part of the angelic form._

Castiel took his hands from Dean’s wings and tried to move back, attempting to will his rushing blood from swirling his mind into a useless stew. Dean nipped at his shoulder with a mouth that was both long and animal as well as soft and small and Castiel pressed back in as his body responded. Dean nosed at Castiel’s sensitive ruff and the nose was small and the horns were gone and—.Castiel tipped his chin back and felt Dean’s lips on skin as they pressed from his shoulder to the base of his jaw. Their wings dissolved as he stared at the sky and then the blue sky faded in static pops of color to black as the dream crumbled.

Castiel woke to find himself stretched out over Dean, his head at an angle to allow Dean’s roving lips better access to the sensitive skin behind his ear. He moaned helplessly, once, and his eyes fluttered closed again as though chasing the dream. Dean licked the edge of his ear, flicking his earlobe with his tongue and Castiel gasped as his body lit up. Without thought, he slid his hips along Dean. It felt amazing. It felt—.

He was an angel taking advantage of a human. He was a man taking advantage of his best friend. Castiel exhaled roughly in shock and rolled away as the full implication of waking with Dean in such a manner hit him. “Dean,” he panted, pressing one hand onto Dean’s chest and shaking him. “Dean, wake up.” His body trembled to roll back into Dean.

Dean fluttered his eyes open and they focused on Castiel. “Cas? What?”

Castiel shook his head and felt his face crease with worry as panic swelled inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was his or Dean’s and he lifted his hand from Dean’s chest to try and force some separation. “Dean,” he whispered. “You were asleep and things—.”

Dean lay very still and gazed at Castiel, flicking his eyes along his body, taking in their proximity, Castiel’s open suit coat, their feet still tangled together. “I’m sorry, man,” Dean whispered and his voice broke. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean…”

Dean’s foot shifted on Castiel’s ankle as Dean rolled towards Castiel. This close, heat radiated off of Dean. His lips were still red from kissing, high color in his cheeks. He lay like a blushing rose inches from Castiel, who felt longing roll between them with something near the fervor and focus of prayer.

Castiel sucked in a breath and took a chance. “I’m not sorry,” he said. He laid a careful hand along Dean’s neck, tracing his fingers back along the sensitive skin to where Dean’s secondary wings would have been. He shook his head. “I’m not.”

Dean’s hand shot forward and he grabbed Castiel by the tie, pulling him in so close that Castiel lost focus. “I’m not either,” he murmured and Castiel closed his eyes, surrendering to the heat, and pressed his lips to Dean briefly before licking into his mouth. Dean responded immediately with a moan that sent tremors through Castiel and he deepened the kiss and worked one hand under Dean’s t-shirt to trace along his stomach. Dean sucked in a breath at the touch, then moved his own hand to mirror Castiel’s, gliding his fingers along his neck and back to where Castiel’s wings lay, invisible.

Castiel groaned and used the weight of his body to roll Dean so that he lay on top of him once more. He ground his erection along Dean’s hard cock and kissed him long and deep. He moved one hand to Dean’s hip, fitting his fingers against the hipbone and pressing Dean into the mattress. His other hand skirted around Dean’s neck to the back of his head and he ran his fingers against the grain of Dean’s hair as he focused on kissing his best friend senseless.

He pulled back and levered himself to a half crouch when his body began to ache with need - or Dean’s body. It was so hard to tell with their skin pressed so close, shirts rucked up and sliding sensuously as they writhed on the bed together. Dean chased his lips before letting his head fall back against his pillow. “Jesus, Cas,” he gasped.

Castiel dragged a finger along Dean’s kiss-wet lips and moaned as Dean tracked his finger with his tongue. Slowly, gaze never leaving Castiel, Dean sucked it inside. Castiel smiled - a little wildly - even as he lost the rhythm of breath entirely. He pushed his other hand further under Dean’s shirt, hiking it up to expose his nipples. He took one nipple and circled it slowly, teasing it into a stiff peak and flicking it.

Dean cried out and Castiel smirked. He took his finger from Dean’s mouth and sat back, pulling Dean upright just enough to pull off his shirt entirely. He traced down the centerline of Dean’s body, shifting backwards to balance on his thighs as his finger wandered over Dean’s naval and down to the erection pushing its way out of Dean’s sweatpants. Dean moaned as Castiel stroked the slit of his cock. “I rebuilt this body,” Castiel said as he traced a light circle around Dean’s cockhead. “I know it intimately. Yet I feel like I never touched it before.”

“Fuck.” Dean arched into his touch, then huffed out a laugh. “That’s a little creepy, dude.” He bucked again, deliberately, and Castiel slid his fingers slowly under Dean’s waistband, trailing them from his cock to his hip and back again.

Castiel leaned over, plunging his hand down Dean’s pants as he pressed his mouth to Dean’s ear, satisfied with the incoherent whine he drew from Dean. “Oh, is it?” he asked. His fingers closed around Dean’s balls and he squeezed them lightly before pulling his hand back up, tracing his fingers up the vein along his shaft.

Dean thrust into him, panting. “It’s not. It’s fucking hot. Fuck.” Dean pushed at his pants, shoving them down onto his thighs. “Cas. Cas, I need you to—. Please.”

“Anything, Dean. Anything.” Castiel took off his suit coat and tossed it on the floor. He undid his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and all the while he looked at Dean. “I’ll do anything for you, Dean.” He shifted to his knees then curled his fingers under Dean’s waistband and slid the pants slowly down his legs and off. They joined the pile on the floor. He looked at Dean laid out on the bedspread, muscular and open to him. Dean flushed as Castiel traced his centerline again.

“Please,” Dean said and grabbed Castiel’s hand, pressing it along his cock and pushing into it.

Castiel was on top of him in a moment, seizing Dean’s mouth with his own and cupping his hand around Dean’s erection, already wet at the tip. He circled the head then pulled back to spit into his palm before sliding his hand down to the base and up again. He fucked Dean’s mouth with his tongue as Dean fucked into his hand, frantically. Years of want and waiting made him rough and Dean responded, moaning and bucking until he came with a series of deep shudders. Castiel eased him through it, drawing away when Dean hissed at his touch.

Castiel leaned back, lips parted in wonder, breath trembling back into his lungs. So much had just transpired. He could feel satisfaction spread like silk between them and tried to quell the urge to chase his own. Instead, Castiel cupped Dean’s face, wrapping his fingers along his sweat-slick neck and under his ear while his thumb brushed Dean’s cheek. “Was that okay?”

Dean leaned his face into Castiel’s palm, and laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, it was fucking okay. More than okay.”

Castiel smiled then and leaned to press an almost chaste kiss on Dean’s lips. He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Good.”

Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel’s waist and splayed his fingers across the small of his back. He pulled Castiel back down to lie against him once more and moved his hips along Castiel’s erection before rolling them in one lithe movement. Castiel found himself on his back, Dean above him.

Dean grinned down at him, full and open, his soul warm with joy. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He moved his hand to Castiel’s pants and undressed him slowly, following the rasp of fabric sliding along Castiel’s legs with his mouth. He pressed slow, wet kisses down Castiel’s body until he had removed every piece of clothing and then slowly he traced his way back up. Castiel moaned and sighed beneath him like a ship at sea as Dean’s worship consumed him.

 

**The next night...**

 

Dean turned in early on New Year’s Eve and Castiel, not even bothering with pretense, followed. Sam’s laughter filled the room behind them but Dean ignored him and led Castiel to his bedroom. He undressed him, pressed him into his bed, and took him apart for hours. That night, in their shared dream, Dean stood before him again. His wings were flung out in challenge and Castiel raised his own midnight wings in response.

“I want you to teach me to fly, man.” Dean’s face was a jaguar this time, sleek and wild.

Castiel feathered his fingertips through Dean’s ruff. “Metaphorically?”

“In the morning.”

Castiel smirked. He stepped away just enough to make room for his primary wings’ full span. “You already know how,” he said. “Catch me if you can.” He turned and sprinted into the sky, talons skimming the ocean water, feathers dusted in salt spray. Behind him, Dean growled in challenge and chased him away from the heated beach and over the endless water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, holidays plus small children = less time than I planned for this story. Thanks for reading! Happy New Year!


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